


Bodies In The Lake

by nyquildreams



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Altered Mental States, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyquildreams/pseuds/nyquildreams
Summary: Frank is a troubled young man who likes to get into trouble with his friends, the usual sex-drugs-violence scene. But when he meets Gerard, the kid he used to beat the shit out of in high school to compensate for being totally in the closet, things really start to spiral downwards.





	1. Magic

Frank thought himself better than this. 

Sirens wailed in the distance and passing headlights illuminated the faces of the adolescents lined up around the corner, their hoods up and their faces low as the public busied past them. The air around the group was thick with smoke, a perfect picture of the cliché kids your parents warned you about, with cigarettes and vicious eyes and vampiric grins that said 'don't get too close, we bite'. Frank had been up against these grins before, against the pit bull pulling on his chain and the sick kids that'd beat you 'til you're dead and continue to do so long after just for the hell of it. He felt quite special to now be part of the team.

The streetlights twisted in the darkness, vision distorting then suddenly restoring itself, again and again in corners of eyes and dancing across the street in a twitching blaze. Traffic flew by, the ambience loud and bustling all around them, typical city life.  
Someone called Frank's name to the left of him. He turned to see a lone streetlamp, flickering in the glowing blue-dark, suddenly dragging himself back to the reality that was dead silent. Oh.

Frank turned to his right, his friends still there, acting as normal as he began to bug out slightly.  Auditory hallucinations weren't enjoyable most of the time, but this was something else. The silence around them was buzzing, still alive but almost eerie in the dark. 

"Dude..." Frank slurred, grabbing the streetlamp next to him for support. His head was spinning and swimming and his brain was sloshing around in his skull, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his jaw beginning to shake. He put it down to the magic he'd snorted earlier and stumbled through the people, uttering something about how he was gonna go home 'cause his head hurt, then stumbled down the dark street, not completely holding his body straight as he did so. 

-

A pack of Viceroys from the gas station wasn't too hard to get his paws on, considering it was something like one am and the cashier was not much older than Frank himself. The beachfront probably wasn't the most suitable place for him at that time, but it was the closest, and the most interesting, so he ended up giggling like a child at the waves and the way the wind tickled his cheeks as he stood with his toes on the shoreline. He was twisted, completely fucked up; everything was silent yet he was holding conversations with people he was imagining to be there in his head multiple times over, then snapping back to reality and realising that he was alone, scaring him a little and making him feel like a bit of a fool.

The waves roared and crashed before him, black and purple in the dark. There was something about the rough tide that made Frank feel powerful, like he could do anything, like there was something bubbling inside him, scratching at his throat to get out. Frank sat and dug his fingers into the damp sand, loving the sensation it made on his hands as the drugs mad his skin hypersensitive. He giggled again and smiled contently, leaning his head back to watch the almost invisible clouds slowly drag themselves by. He cursed to the sky, screaming every possible cuss he could think of, feeling the weight lift off him as he went on. He loved the beach at night.

Four cigarettes later - because he was chain smoking like his life depended on it - and the decision to go home was made. He dragged himself up and brushed most of the sand from his ripped up jeans, and found himself so furiously focused on walking in a straight line, he didn't notice the guy shouting something at him from his car as it zoomed by, and he was not prepared for the guy walking the opposite way on the sidewalk, who also wasn't looking where he was going. Frank stumbled and almost fell after they shoved past eachother accidentally. The stranger uttered an apology then went to turn and walk away, but stopped.

"Hey, can I bum a cigarette?"  
Frank stared for a moment, processing what the stranger had asked and shook his head.  
"You... You won't like what I'm smoking man, sorry." He smirked and took a drag on his cigarette, kind of just for show. The stranger stepped forward into the shitty light of the flickering streetlamp above and chuckled lightly, his voice high and dripping in jersey, raising his eyebrows and huffing out a laugh.  
"Try me." The boy with the attitude reached out and plucked the almost dead cigarette from Frank's fingers and took a long, final drag. Frank stared in half-shock as he hadn't realised he'd been robbed, the drugs still distorting everything. He didnt know if he wanted to punch this stranger or kiss him. He had to blink to wet his eyes when the cloud of harsh smoke blew back into his face and up into the air in intricate swirls. 

"Viceroys," the skinny boy smiled, dropping the filter and grinding the cherry under his heel, "nice. I'll take one thanks." He smiled sweetly and held out his hand flat. Frank took this opportunity to eye up this cocky kid a little. He seemed young, he was thin but still had a little chub around his face and big doey eyes that glistened in the light of the streetlamps. He had the unmistakable nose of a junkie though, he was clearly a cokehead. His hands were dainty and pale and they rattled noticeably in the light.  
Frank thought about asking him to score some, but he decided against it. This guy looked... dodgy. Like the shit he'd give Frank would be some next level crazy that'd probably kill him off. Not that Frank didn't like crazy, but he had this mad kind of look that said 'I wanna get you in trouble' which he found unsettling - attractive, but unsettling.

He was impressed nonetheless, he himself had only just got used to the harsh burn of the toxic smoke, but this dude must have been smoking them for years.  
"Fair play." Frank nodded with a slight laugh and picked two cigarettes from his packet with a shaking hand, giving one to his acquaintance and sparking the other for himself.  
"Thanks, Frank." The boy grinned toothily, his whole face distorting in the dim lights in an almost sinister way.  
"You're... welcome." Frank half smiled anxiously, and before going on their separate ways, the pretty boy punched him in the arm playfully, his boney knuckles digging in a little too hard. 

What a funny little encounter, Frank thought as he replayed the images in his head. By the time he was turning onto his street, he'd thought about it so much he was almost certain it was just a hallucination. Whatever. He needed to get some sleep, his mom was coming over in about 9 hours. Upon arriving home he kicked his shoes off and collapsed on the sofa immediately, writhing in his dirty clothes and sweating like he was in a sauna. Suddenly on the brink of passing out, his last thoughts were how fucking hard he was in his jeans and the cute pixie boy that had stolen a cigarette from him not too long ago.

//a/n//

Let me know what you think ?


	2. Peanut Butter Blues And Melancholy Jam

_~Pretty little thing you are, open your mouth for me sugar, that's right. Just like that. Good boy.~_

 

"Frank, this place is a mess!"

"Ma, I know, just-"

"Look at this! There are dirty dishes everywhere! Do you ever do your laundry?!"

"Ma, please-" Frank dug his fingers deep into his eye sockets, his brain still rattling in its cage.

"Have you been gettin' enough sleep? Have you been takin' your pills? Frankie, look at me!" He placed his hands on either side of his mother's face and looked lovingly into her eyes. He spoke gently so she'd stay calm.

"Yes, ma, I'm fine. I've just been workin' is all. I'll get this place cleaned up today okay? The landlord's comin' at five." Frank's mother looked worriedly at her son. She knew better than to fall for his tricks, he was a convincing liar, but his confidence and charm was persuasive. His pupils were still dilated and he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip nervously.

"Promise me you're takin' care of yourself, Frankie. Promise?" She reached up to hold her son's hand. She worried about him and what he got up to in the late hours now he was living alone in this dingy apartment complex.

"I promise." Frank murmured, feigning sincerity and pulling her into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly. He felt bad for lying to his mother, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right? Why would he worry her and tell her about all the trouble he's found himself caught up in when he can just take care of it himself? She didn't need to know. Frank was too much trouble when he was living with her. She didn't need the stress. Although she didn't seem too convinced, she settled. There was still that worried crease between her eyebrows though.

"Okay.. you can always call me if you need anythin', okay? Make sure you go into town an' look for another job sometime this week, you can't live out of takeout boxes forever." Frank huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, smiling at his mother.

"Yes, ma, I will, you don't need to worry about me." He ushered her out the door with a quick kiss, and a sigh when the door finally closed. He needed a cigarette. Finding the crumpled pack of viceroys in his pocket enticed memories of the night before that were a cloudy haze to become clear. He remembered the white crystals that stung his nose and made his throat burn like hell, he remembered the distorted sounds of his friends laughter and them jostling him around as he lost his footing. He remembered meeting the pretty raven haired boy, and still felt his knuckles in his skin. He remembered the wet dream he'd been rudely woken from not too long ago. "Fuckin' hell." He threw himself onto the beaten sofa, dragging his fingers over his scalp and scrubbing his face with his rough hands. He still felt jumpy, the drugs still running through his system as he lit his cigarette and stared at the ceiling. What the fuck?

-

Not too far away, a boy sat on the cold sand along the long and lonely stretch of beach riddled with garbage and pebbles. He hummed a little melody to himself as he twiddled his shoelaces, stopping every now and then to brush a lock of unkempt black hair behind his ear. The sun had risen over the dreary town but the grey clouds cast a grey wash over everything in sight. The wind was relentless, blowing sea spray into his face and on his clothes, the waves crawling closer and closer to the black boots that rested comfortably on the sand. He could have passed out right there, in the unforgiving cold and let himself be washed away with the frothy tide, but, not today, he decided and picked himself up slowly to begin his trek home.

_(On the other side of town, his mother worried at the kitchen table, drumming her long acrylic nails against the wood.)_

Rotting leaves crunched under foot as heavy feet dragged across the overgrown forest floor, twigs scratching at soft skin and tearing it in places, exposing deep red against sickly white. Chattering teeth mixed beautifully with the sounds of the early morning, birds singing and so and so.

_Stop_

It took far too much mental capacity to keep moving one foot in front of the other.

_Stop! You can't go back_

Left right left right

_They know you're there, she'll give you up again_

Left right left right

_Fucking idiot. You're walking right into the trap._

He stopped and ground the heels of his grubby hands into his eyes so all he could see was kaleidoscopic patterns similar to last night's episode of delusion. Keep walking. Every step caused a terrible throbbing in his skull, the blood running thin in his veins. He was starting to regret feeding his meds to the cat.

_Crooked teeth and dilated pupils stared him in the face, skin glowing in the dull light as smoke rose undisturbed through the cold air. He had this deranged look about him, like he was crazy, deer-in-the-headlights. His face was familiar. Frankie. Handsome fucker. His name ran through his mind all night._

"You look like shit."

"Fuck. Off." His twig of a brother threw himself down into his chair across the table, pushing his glasses up his nose and sipping his coffee.

"Have you been with him again?"

"Where's mom?"

"Have you been with him again?"

" _Where's mom?!_ " He kicked his brother - hard - under the table with a snarl.

"She's at work you fucking _asshole_!" The skinny boy snapped and left a harsh feeling in the air. All was silent in the dingy, off-yellow kitchen, which had paint peeling off the walls in the same manner as the cheap linoleum on the floor. As his head rested on his arms, he started to drift off on the ever-so-slowly rotting wood of the kitchen table. The sound of the mug being pushed across it grated through him. He looked up at the half empty cup of coffee, and then at his little brother, who stared back with a shrug, his look softening slightly.

"You need it more than I do." And with that the younger boy propelled from his seat and out the front door, dashing slightly so not to miss the school bus. He stared at the cooling brew before him, willing it to transport to his stomach without him requiring to move any more than he already had.

_She'll be back soon._

With a grunt and a moan, he pressed his palms into the table and pushed himself up, snatching up the coffee and scratting at the back of his head. The walk down the basement steps was a treacherous one, but he somehow made it without falling and spilling his brains all over the floor for a second time. He downed the now luke warm liquid and threw himself - a little too hard - down on his bed. Eight in the morning was not a suitable time to be arriving home, but sometimes he had things to do. And sometimes he had nothing to do, but his utter resentment for life and recklessness made him do things that weren't deemed 'suitable'. Fuckin' crazy, as his mother dearest had put it. He didn't think he was crazy, he just didn't want to worry about stupid, pointless stuff like getting a job or having kids bla bla bla. He enjoyed the finer things in life, like cocaine and boys. He wasn't hurting anybody. Well, not anybody but himself, but that was his problem.

Speaking of boys.. He sighed loudly and remembered running into Frankie last night. He wondered if he remembered him. He sure didn't look like he did. But he remembered Frankie, oh, God. How could he _forget_? How could he forget how he used to rough him up every now and then when he felt like it, used to beat the shit out of him, slamming his head against walls and stomping on his fingers, punching him again and again and again, using him like a toy to get his anger out. And every single time, without fail, he'd pick him back up and smile at his bloody pale face, then kiss him like he wanted to fuck his brains out.

He never told anyone about it. Why would he? Frankie was fucking around with all the girls in the school, a hypermasculine closeted queer. People would just presume he was lying and bully him even more for being a fag. Besides, he enjoyed it, brutal beatings and all, and he totally used to get himself off in the bathroom after.

He passed out with his hand still in his pants, slack jawed and covered in cum.


End file.
